


Succour

by Jennybops



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennybops/pseuds/Jennybops
Summary: When a musician abandons her family, music becomes forbidden in The Rivera Family. Near a century later, a young Micaela Rivera yearns to be a musician like her idol Amalia De La Cruz. When her dream becomes known to the family, things go wrong and Micaela has to find her great-great-grandmother to receive her blessing in The Land of the Dead before sunrise so she can return to her living family.Abandoned until further notice. Sorry.





	1. Capítulo Uno

“Sometimes, I think I’m cursed,” Micaela muttered under her breath as she dropped to her knees. A young man, dressed in proper mariachi attire, sat down in front of her and rested his shoe on a small stool Micaela put down. She blew a piece of her hair away from her eyes as she grabbed black boot polish from her work bag. The mariachi man looked up from his guitar when he realized Micaela had spoken.

“Did you say something, muchacha?” He asked, which caused Micaela to look up. She nodded, happy something would listen to her as she worked on their shoes.

“Yes, I said, sometimes, I think I’m cursed!” Micaela exclaimed, only receiving a disinterested nod from the man. She set aside her polishing brush and polish to rest on her feet. “Something happened long before I was even born. You see, a long, long time ago, there was the Rivera family.”

“Yes, the shoemaking family here.” The man sighed when he realized he released a chatterbox. “Can we--”

“It began with a mamá, papá, and their little boy. They were very happy. The mother was a musician, and all of them would sing and dance.” Micaela moved to grab a sketchbook that she had filled with many photos since she received it for her birthday. She opened it and flipped through until it landed on a picture of an infant boy, along with a man and woman, dancing and playing music.

“This is them! I mean, this is what I think the woman looks like. Anyways,” Micaela rambled, holding up the sketchbook so the mariachi could see her art. He glanced at the drawing and nodded, but tried to get Micaela to continue her shoe shining. “The woman also had a dream to play for the world! One day, she left with her guitar and never returned.” Micaela sighed and put away the sketchbook. The man looked to see her going for her polish and brush and smiled, but she only grabbed the brush and started to rub the unpolished shoes.

“The papá didn’t have time to cry over that woman! He banished all music from his life. . .” Micaela sighed and rolled her eyes at the rule. “He found a way to provide for his son. He took a hobby that he and his wife had shared and made it a career! Shoes! He could have made candy, or fireworks, or even luchador masks!”

Micaela shook her head and looked at the shoes that the mariachi man wore. On the sole was the signature of the Rivera Shoe Shop, which caused Micaela to groan in annoyance. “But no, he chose shoes. . . Then he taught his son and later, his daughter-in-law. Then the grandkids were roped into the business. As the family grew, the business.”

“Yes, I know, muchac--”

“Music tore his family apart, but shoes held them together.” Micaela grabbed the polish and started actually to work on the shoes. “You see, that man was my great-great-grandfather, Papá Devante.”

The mariachi man sighed and looked around to see if his fellow musicians would help him get away from the rambling child. When no one caught his eyes, he slumped and decided to let the girl tell her story, as long as she polished his shoes. He looked at his guitar and lightly began to beat his fingers on the edge to pass the time.

“He died way before I was born. But my family still tells his story. You know, Dia de Los Muertos. And his son is my great grandfather, Papá Coco.” Micaela smiled as she thought of her great-grandpa and gasped. The mariachi looked down to see Micaela grabbing her sketchbook again. She opened it and showed him a picture of an ancient, wrinkled man in a wheelchair. “He has trouble remembering things, but he’s good to talk to anyway. I tell him pretty much everything. Things like my weird dimple. See?”

The mariachi looked back down to see Micaela show him a dimple. He nodded and tried to look somewhere else, but Micaela exclaimed, “Dimple! No dimple! It’s bizarre. See?”

“Yes, I see. Can you please get--”

“My abuelita is Papá Coco’s daughter, and she runs the house just like Papá Devante did. One time she took a bottle away from me because I was blowing it and it sounded like music. Another time she yelled at a bunch of musicians for playing in front of our compound. I think we’re the only family in Mexico that hates music. . .”

Micaela made a disgusted face at the fact and shook her head, not realizing that the mariachi had become slightly interested when she told him what her abuelita had done. “But me? No way, I’m nothing like my family! I love music! Anytime I can, I come to Mariachi Plaza with the excuse to shine shoes, but I want to listen to music! I know I’m not supposed to, but it isn’t my fault! It’s Amalia De La Cruz’s. She’s the greatest musician of all time!”

The mariachi man nodded in agreement at the statement, and the two of them looked over at the statue that sat in the middle of Mariachi Plaza. A beautiful woman with shoulder-length hair stood tall, casting a shadow over the other musicians in the plaza. The statue depicted the woman, Amalia De La Cruz, in her signature floral tabasco traditional dress, along with flowers resting in her hair. The infamous skull guitar she always played with sat in her arms as the statue pretended to play.

“Right here, of all the places, is where Amalia De La Cruz took her first steps towards becoming the most beloved singer in Mexican history!” Micaela sighed in awe. “She started as a total nobody from Santa Cecilia, just like me! But when she played music, she made people fall in love with her. She broke the barrier for women in the music and film industry! She starred in movies as the hero, not as a damsel in distress. She had the coolest guitar too.”

“That’s great that you like her, muchacha. But, please, can you continue with the shoe shine?” The mariachi man asked, gesturing to his shoes. The words fall on deaf ears as Micaela thought of the recording of Amalia De La Cruz’s final performance.

“She wrote the best songs! But my all-time favorite? It’s Remember Me, of course.” The memory of Micaela watching the final performance of Amalia De La Cruz played in her mind. To Micaela, it felt as if she was in the nightclub when the plaza began to broadcast Remember Me through the speakers set up near the gazebo.

“Amalia lived the life! Until, you know, 1942, when that giant bell crushed her. That stupid stagehand deserved his sentence for not doing his job!” Micaela frowned and slammed her hand on the stool, which caused the mariachi man to jump lightly. Some people turned to look at the noise before they continued with their tasks.

“I wanna be just like her.” Micaela smiled lightly and grabbed the polish brush again. “Sometimes, I look at her, and I get this feeling like we’re connected somehow. Like, if she could play music, maybe someday I could too. . . If it wasn’t for my family.”

“Ay, ay, ay, muchacha.” The mariachi noticed that Micaela started to space out when her speech ended. He spoke with a hint of playfulness in his voice. “I asked for a shoe shine, not your life story.”

“Oh! Lo siento!” Micaela grabbed some more polish and continued her job. As she worked on the man’s black shoes, he plucked his guitar idly. She grabbed the edge dressing and a rag to complete the task.

“It’s just; I can’t talk about this at home, so I thought . . . “

“Look.” The mariachi set his guitar to his side and sat up a bit. “If I were you, I’d march right up to my family and say, ‘Hey! I’m a musician. Deal with it!’” Micaela’s eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically as she finished the final touches on the man’s shoes.

“I-I could never say that,” Micaela muttered.

“You are a musician, no?” The mariachi asked. Micaela began to stutter about how she only played for herself, the musician sighed and shook his head. “Did Amalia De La Cruz become the world’s best musician by hiding her skills? No! She walked out into this plaza and played her music out loud!” Silence engulfed the two as Micaela started to put away her kit. She shoved her sketchbook into her bookbag and stood up, along with the mariachi. He looked around to see a poster that read “TALENT SHOW” in fancy letters.

“Ay, mira, mira!” He pointed, and Micaela turned to see the poster. “The music competition for Dia de Muertos is a great start. You wanna be like your hero? You sign up!”

“Uh, uh!” Micaela shook her head, her pigtail braids swinging and slapping her cheeks. “My family would freak!”

“Look, if you’re una miedosa, then, have fun making shoes.” Micaela frowned when the mariachi called her a scaredy-cat. The two stood there in silence for a moment before the man sighed. “C’mon! What did De La Cruz always say?”

“Seize your moment?” Micaela worried her lip as she looked at the older man through her lashes. He approached Micaela and put his guitar in front of him in an offer to her.

“Show me what you got, muchacha. I’ll be your first audience.” Micaela’s brows rise, surprised that he suggested that. The young girl reached forward to take the instrument, afraid that one wrong move would break it. Micaela held the instrument as if it was a holy relic and spread her fingers across the strings. She looked down to anticipate her chords and raised her hand to strike.

“MICAELA!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Coco (2017) and I cried so much when I saw it. I've always loved movies about The Day of the Dead! I can't wait for this to come out on Blu-ray so I can buy it and cherish it forever. My favorite is Héctor in the movie, as well as in my story I am writing. I just thought that by changing the gender, the story would change a lot. And it does. I hope you like it!


	2. Capítulo Dos

As if she touched fire, Micaela threw the wooden instrument toward the mariachi man. From the corner of her eye, she watched as he struggled to catch it from the air, but the scene in front of her was the truly terrifying sight. Her grandmother, a small and old woman in her seventies, marched toward her with a murderous glare that she thought was directed towards her. Micaela realized quickly that the glare was for the mariachi when her abuelita stopped in front of her. Her uncle, Berto, and his daughter and her cousin, Rosa, stood a bit back with supplies from the market.

“Abuelita!” Micaela tried to hide her fear through pretending that she was happily shocked to see her.

“What are you doing here?” Abuelita frowned and looked straight into her eyes, seeing through her lies. Micaela stuttered, unable to give a proper answer or look into her grandmother’s eyes. The young girl looked off to her abuelita’s left shoulder, only to have to look at Rosa’s smug look. Micaela gave her cousin a frown. Micaela jumped when Abuelita moved forward, just for the old lady to walk past her and to the mariachi. She watched as her abuelita grabbed her shoe, smacked his head with it, and waved him away.

“You leave my granddaughter alone!” Abuelita exclaimed as the mariachi held his head in pain.

“Doña, please!” The mariachi man begged. “I was just getting a shine! Nothing more!”

“I know your tricks, mariachi!” Abuelita glared at the man and then turned to Micaela, her face softening slightly. “What did he say to you?”

“He was just showing me his guitar--” Micaela’s mouth snapped shut when she realized what she just said. She heard Tio Berto gasp along with his mother at the fact. She heard Rosa eye roll behind her, a regular occurrence in the family to her now.

“My granddaughter is a sweet little angelita querida cielita!” Abuelita exclaimed and clenched her fist. “She wants no part of your music, mariachi! You keep away from her!” The group of Riveras watched as the mariachi scrambled away with his hat and guitar in his hands. Micaela squeaked in surprise when Abuelita hugged her protectively. Micaela sighed as her head rested in her grandmother’s bosom.

“You know better than to be here in this place!” Abuelita said, distress clear in her voice. She allowed Micaela to lean away from her bosom slightly so they could look into each others’ eyes. “You will come home. Now.”

Abuelita let go of her granddaughter and started down the familiar streets of Santa Cecilia. Micaela dove to the ground to grab her bookbag and shine box before she went after her family. As they left the plaza and houses engulfed the streets, Micaela noticed that many of the houses had the poster for the talent show. She ripped one from the wall and stuffed it into her bag. In front of her, Tio Berto and Rosa walked with their food supplies. She jogged a little to catch up with them.

“How many times have we told you, that plaza is crawling with mariachis!” Tio Berto scolded his niece, who only replied with the standard “Yes, Tio Berto.” From the small alleyway between two houses, a medium sized Xolo dog made his presence known. The dog ran up to Micaela and tried to lower her, sniffing and whining for food.

“No, no, no!” Micaela tried to push her friend away, but Abuelita noticed him and started to shoo with her shoe.

“Go away, you! Go!” The dog, afraid of the loud noise, darted toward the plaza.

“It’s just Dante. . .” Micaela muttered and huffed in annoyance that she was not even allowed to have a pet. She glanced behind to see Dante walking behind them, a bit further away due to Abuelita. She tried to tell him to wait until her grandmother was not around, but Abuelita noticed that she was looking behind. The old lady looked back and saw Dante, only to throw her shoe at the dog. Dante ran away.

“Never name a street dog. They’ll follow you forever.” Abuelita continued to walk towards the Rivera Compound as she scolded Micaela. The four Riveras walked in silence for a moment. “Now, go get my shoe.” Micaela sighed and slowed down until Tio Berto and Rosa were in front of her. The three stopped due to Abuelita’s orders, watched as Micaela ran back and grabbed the shoe. Micaela gave the sandal to Abuelita, and they continued on their way home.

When the four of them reached the compound, Abuelita forced Micaela to walk to the workshop area of the house. Berto and Rosa headed toward the kitchen, but Rosa turned to look at Micaela and stuck her tongue out to mock her cousin. Micaela tried to go after Rosa, but Abuelita’s grip forced to continue forward. When they made it to the workshop, the familiar scolding stool was pulled out, and she was forced to sit in it.

“I found your daughter in Mariachi Plaza!” Abuelita exclaimed. Micaela’s father and mother looked up from where they were sitting, her father making shoes while her mother watched. Micaela could see that her mother did not think of the plaza as such a big deal, but knew she would have to scold her for disobeying abuelita’s rules.

“Micaela. . .” Her papá sighed.

“You know how Abuelita feels about the plaza.” Her mamá stood up and walked towards her, resting a hand on her pregnant stomach and the other one on Micaela’s shoulder.

“I was just shining shoes!” Micaela whined, slumping down in the chair. At that moment, Tio Berto walked through the door and shook his head at the “small” description of what she did.

“A musician’s shoes!” He pointed out. The family, mostly her cousins Abel, gasped at the statement. Abel let go of a shoe, and the footwear zipped up and hit the ceiling.

“But the plaza’s where all the foot traffic is!” Micaela frowned, kicking her feet childishly.

“If Abuelita says no more plaza, then no more plaza,” Papá stated and gave his daughter a stern stare. Micaela looked away angrily and bit her lip, as she realized something.

“But what about tonight?” She asked before she could stop herself.

“What’s tonight?” Micaela’s grandfather, Franco, spoke up from his relaxing position nearby.

“Well, they’re having this talent show--” Micaela squirmed in her seat when she saw that Abuelita had started to listen. She thought if she should continue and decided. “And I thought I might . . .”

“Sign up?” Micaela’s mother finished the sentence for her.

“Well, maybe?”

“You--” Rosa started to laugh, and soon Abel joined in. The adults sighed and looked at the children. “You have to have talent to be in a talent show!”

“What are you going to do, shine shoes?” Abel asked, only for his shoe to fall back down on his head.

“It’s Dia de Los Muertos,” Abuelita stated and shook her head. “No one’s going anywhere. Tonight is about family.” Abuelita grabbed a basket full of marigold onto Micaela’s lap. “Ofrenda room. Vámonos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! I hope you guys enjoy the story, even if I write it differently than you would. If I mess up on a Spanish word or phrase, please tell me! I'm only in Spanish III.


	3. Capítulo Tres

Micaela absentmindedly stood up and watched as the marigold basket fell to the ground. A blush formed on her cheeks when her cousins began to taunt her about her empty mind.

“Rosa, Abel, stop that.” Berto hissed at his elder children, who shut their mouth immediately. Micaela got to her knees and started to place the flowers back in the basket. Her papá got down and helped her pick them all up.

“Micae, you must be more thoughtful.” Her father smiled and kissed her on her forehead before sending her off to follow her abuelita. Micaela grabbed the basket from the grounded and walked out of the workshop. Outside, she could see Dante sleeping in the dark corner of the compound, where no one ever looked. The sight of her friend made her want to ditch her abuelita, but she knew she would get a whooping for doing so. She jogged across the courtyard and walked into the dimly lit, very orange room.

“Abuelita?” Micaela spoke up and looked to see her abuelita pushing Papá Coco into the corner of the room. Abuelita took the basket of marigolds, and the two moved closer to the giant ofrenda.

“Micaelita, I know this is a tough time in your life, with you becoming a woman--”

“Abuelita!” Micaela blushed when her grandma started to talk about her personal life in the open. Abuelita looked over at her granddaughter and shook her head, a slight smile on her lips.

“Don’t give me that look. There is nothing to be ashamed of. I went through it, your mamá and your aunts went through it. There is nothing to be scared of.” Abuelita kissed Micaela’s red cheek and went back to arranging the ofrenda. “You must move past this tough time today and think of what it is. Dia de Los Muertos is the one night where our ancestors can visit us. We’ve made all this food and set out the things they loved in life, mija. I don’t want you sneaking off to who-knows-where because you are in your rebellious phase.”

Micaela, as her grandma gave her the lecture she has heard nearly every year, started to back away from the ofrenda to the door. She glanced to Papá Coco, only to see his vacant stare and a soft smile. She nearly made it to the door when abuelita looked back to see her.

“Where are you going?”

“I-I thought we were done. . .” Micaela stated. Abuelita gave a firm glare, and Micaela quickly went back to her side.

“Ay, Dios mio,” Abuelita shook her head and placed her hand on Micaela’s taller shoulder. “Being part of this family means being here for this family. I don’t want to see you end up like--” Micaela and Abuelita looked up to the top tier of the ofrenda. There sat the original photo of the Papá Devante and his family. The patriarch of the family stood with a sharp face and firm stare, while next to him sat his wife and infant son. The wife’s face was torn out, only pieces of her hair could be seen draped over her shoulders. She wore a beautiful Campeche dress that her son sat upon in her lap. The small Papá Coco had a confused stare on his face as he wore his christening gown.

“Like Papá Coco’s mamá?” Micaela finished the sentence for her abuelita. Abuelita’s face turned firm when she heard Micaela speak of the woman.

“Never mention that woman! She’s better off forgotten.”

“But you’re the one who--”

“Ta, ta, ta-tch!”

“I was just --”

“Tch, tch!”

“But--”

“Tch!”

“I-”

“Tch-tch!”

“Mamá?” Abuelita and Micaela looked over to see that their bickering had woken Papá Coco from his daydreaming. Abuelita glared at Micaela as if saying it was her fault that Papá Coco looked agitated. Micaela was about to yell at her abuelita, but Papá Coco continued to call for his mother who was not coming.

“Mamá is home?”

“Papá, calm down, calm down.” Abuelita softly said as she tried to relax her father. Papá Coco continued to ask if his mother was coming home, only for Abuelita to shut down his excitement.

“Who are you?” Papá Coco finally asked when he stopped thinking of his mamá.

“Rest, papá.” Abuelita swallowed down her sadness and turned to go back to the ofrenda. “I’m hard on you because I care, Micaela. Micaela?” Abuelita looked around the ofrenda room to see that her granddaughter had run away from the talk. She sighed and walked up to the ofrenda, looking up at her grandfather’s photo. “What are we going to do with that girl?”

Silence overtook the room, only the creaking of Papá Coco’s wheelchair could be heard. Abuelita glanced around the ofrenda, and a smile replaced her frustrated expression. Her eyes turned bright when her idea formed in her mind. “You’re right. That’s just what she needs!” 

* * *

 

From a hidden corner in the courtyard, Micaela looked around to see if any of the family members were outside. She watched as Berto grabbed a roll of leather and when he walked into the workshop, she left her hiding spot. She used the tower of leather rolls on the truck to climb onto one of the shed’s roofs. She quickly ran over to a makeshift door and swung it up to crawl under it. The door swung back and forth as she moved into the attic room. She sighed in relief when she heard Berto and her papá talk right as the door stopped moving.

Micaela moved further into the room and grabbed her guitar. It was a small guitar, built out of a broken guitar and strings she found in the junkyard on her way home from school. The guitar had been painted to look as white as it could, and grease drawings were placed everywhere on the wood. A large squeak caused Micaela to jump, as well as sudden light in the room. Micaela looked behind, slowly.

“Oh, it’s you.” Micaela sighed in relief when she spotted Dante. “Get in here, C'mon! Hurry up!” Dante wriggled into the hideout, and the door swung closed again. The dog padded his way into the room and rested his head on her shoulder. Micaela grabbed a china marker from her can full of art supplies.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble, boy. Someone could hear me!” Micaela exclaimed quietly as she sketched a nose on her guitar. She colored in the nose and smiled as she looked at her replica of Amalia De La Cruz’s skull guitar. “I wish someone wanted to listen to me play. Don’t you think I’m good?” Micaela asked Dante as she tuned her guitar. Dante shook his head up and down as if he could understand her, his tongue flopping up and down with the movement.

“You are my favorite audience member, Dante.” Micaela giggled as he gave her a sloppy lick. She wiped the spit off of her face with her jacket sleeve and lifted her guitar. She strummed the strings and smiled when they were in tune. “Perfecto!”

Micaela crouched as she walked even further into the attic. She moved a piece of a red curtain and sighed in relief when she saw that the candles were still lit. A small ofrenda, filled with slices of bread and marigolds, sat with pictures and album covers of Amalia De La Cruz. In the middle of the ofrenda sat an old TV with a VCR a top it. Micaela grabbed a dull candle and lit it, illuminating her best photo of Amalia De La Cruz with her guitar. She tried to pose like the musician, but giggled and continued to the TV. She grabbed a tape that said “Best of De La Cruz” on the spine. She pushed it into the VCR and turned the TV on.

“I have to sing!” An image of Amalia flashed on to the TV, her beautiful face and clothing in the shot. “I have to play. The music, it’s--it’s not just in me. It is me!” Amalia exclaimed to one of the men in the movie. Micaela did not care about the storylines in the clips, only the music, and Amalia. Micaela strummed her guitar, waiting for the part she was practicing.

“The rest of the world may follow the rules, but I must follow my heart!” Amalia grabbed the man and kissed him passionately. Micaela cringed at the kiss, and the clip moved onto another one. Amalia stood on a balcony with her guitar in hand and softly sang,

_A feeling so close,_

_You could reach out and touch it,_

_I never knew I could_

_Want something so much,_

_But it’s true. . ._

The clip switched to another film, where Amalia was dressed as a female priest, something scandalous in the 30s and 40s. Micaela watched the clip as she matched music behind the scene.

“You must have faith, sister,” Amalia claimed.

“Oh but Madre, he will never listen.” The nun said in a distressed voice. Amalia shook her head and pulled out her guitar.

“He will listen! To music!” She shouted and started to play her guitar. She sang,

_Only a song,_

_Only a song,_

_Has the power to change a heart. . ._

“Never underestimate the power of music.” Amalia smiled as she finished the song. The clip jumped forward and showed another movie, where Amalia and a man were trying to get married to each other.

“But my father, he will never give his permission.” The young man, named Leo, sighed and frowned. Amalia frowned as well but continued to have hope when the others gave up.

“I am done asking permission. When you see your moment you mustn’t let it pass you by; you must seize it.” The movie clips end, and it moves to an interview clip. Amalia sat in a casting chair wearing her infamous dress, and her guitar sat against the wall next to her.

“Señora de la Cruz, what did it take for you to seize your moment?” An interviewer asked off-screen.

“I had to have faith in my dream.” Amalia smiled kindly. “No one was going to hand it to me. It was up to me to reach for that dream, grab it tight, and make it come true.”

“...And make it come true.” Micaela said softly as the tape ended and pushed itself out of the VCR. Micaela sat there, staring at the black screen. She looked at her bookbag and searched through it until she found the poster for the talent show.

“No more hiding, Dante!” Micaela smiled, eyes bright as she finally stood up for what she wanted. “I gotta seize my moment!” Dante wagged his tail, panting happily as Micaela stood up. She grabbed her bag, guitar, and the poster and headed towards the door. She opened it only to see that the sun was nearly set.

“Dia de Los Muertos has begun!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if I missed any accents on papás or mamás.


End file.
